by R. L. Perez
Maria helped me dress in one of the ridiculous frilly gowns. When she asked my color preference, I told her to pick. She’d chosen a deep coffee brown, claiming it would bring out my eyes.
Yes, I thought grumpily. My duller-than-dirt brown eyes.
Maria wrapped a stiff brace around my midsection and pulled. I sucked in a gasp and choked as my back arched and tremendous pressure slammed into my chest. “What the hell is this?”
Maria released a small yelp at the swear word and laughed nervously. “Be at ease, my lady. This is a corset. You’ll adjust to it.”
I don’t want to adjust to it.
When she finished, I was standing up much straighter than normal. Already the muscles in my back ached from holding myself up so high.
Lilith help me.
Then Maria fitted me with petticoats before fastening the dress on top of that. The skirts poofed out, making me look like a brown marshmallow—or a giant turd. To be honest, I felt like the latter. My sleeves were a mass of lace and itchy fabric. And the neckline was much lower than I would have liked, accentuating the flatness of my chest.
“A vision,” Maria said, beaming at me. “How would you like your hair, my lady?”
“No!” I blurted. “Please, don’t. Leave it as it is.”
Maria’s smile faded, her face looking as forlorn as a kid who found out Christmas was canceled.
I sighed, dropping my arms. “Fine. But make it as plain as possible. No fuss.”
Maria inclined her head. “Yes, my lady.”
Despite my insistence for simplicity, it still took almost an hour to get my hair done. Maria stuck a few tools in the fire to warm them, then pinned my hair up into an elaborate knot. She pulled a few chunks of hair loose from the top and dampened them using water from the pitcher. Then she removed the tools from the fire and used them to curl the loose pieces of my hair. She pinned those as well, so they rested against my cheeks, delicately framing my pale face.
I peeked in the mirror and had to refrain from gagging. I looked like freaking Marie Antoinette. Feminine. Weak.
Ridiculous.
“You are stunning, my lady,” Maria breathed, her eyes sparkling.
I cleared my throat. “Um. Thanks.”
I was seriously starting to reconsider agreeing to abide by the Count’s rules. At this point, even facing Lilith’s beast seemed more appealing.
I strode downstairs, but between my injured leg and the mountain of fabric surrounding me, it was slow work. Gritting my teeth, I hefted up my vast skirts to give my legs some more room. It didn’t make breathing any easier, though.
Curse this time period.
I was halfway down the staircase when I had to pause and catch my breath, gripping the banister tightly.
“Need a hand?” a voice behind me asked.
Panting, I looked up to find Riker behind me, offering his arm and looking gallant as ever in his waistcoat and cravat.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m perfectly . . . capable . . .”
Riker snorted and looped his arm through mine. “You’re not fooling anyone, Brielle. May I call you that?”
“It is my name. Just don’t let the Count hear you.”
Riker chuckled. “You’re catching on quick.”
Together we strode down the stairs. I had to admit, it was a lot easier relying on someone else to carry my weight.
Riker glanced down at my leg, then back up at me with a frown. “You’re limping. Are you hurt?”
I sighed. “It’s nothing.”
“Blimey, Brielle. You should have said something. The Count has healers who can tend to your injury.”
“I’m fine.”
Riker laughed, his blue eyes shining. “You are too much, Brielle. You know, I won’t think less of you if you ask for help now and then.”
My nostrils flared, but I said nothing.
“You’re ravishing, by the way.” Riker cast me a warm look.
I groaned. “I look like a freak.”
Riker released a loud snort, then raised his free hand to his mouth, his eyes wide with embarrassment. He cleared his throat. “You’ll get used to it. But no matter how long we’ve been here, we all look forward to the days when we can wear trousers.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The Count allows that?”
Riker nodded. “Only on the days when the demons attack.”
I froze, and for a moment Riker pulled me forward a bit before he noticed I’d stopped walking. I asked, “The demons attack? When? Where do they come from?” Despite my suffocating clothes, I felt naked without my weapons on me. I knew I’d smelled demons when I first arrived.
“A few days every month, the local demon coven attacks the castle,” Riker said. “We aren’t sure why. Maybe they think we’ve grown too powerful with how many we have living here. Or maybe they’re enemies of the Count. But either way, because of the time loop, all events are fixed, so we know when they’ll strike. We’re able to prepare ourselves against their attack.”
I stared at him, eyes wide. “They . . . they don’t remember any previous attacks?”
“From the year before? No. Once the year resets, they do too.”
“Then, how come you haven’t killed them off yet?”
“We’ve killed a few out of necessity, but they’ve just come back when the year restarts again.”
“So, if one of them kills one of us, then we come back too?”
“Ah.” Riker rubbed the back of his neck. “That gets tricky. You see, the Count cast a powerful spell on the castle to keep us immune from the time loop—so that we remember and don’t reset at the beginning of every year. But because of that, it means we’re vulnerable, unlike those outside of this bubble. It was the only way for us to see any progress with our ailments, you see.”
“But the demons you kill—”
“Are not considered part of the castle’s enchantment. Only those who pass through the time portal are immune. The enchantment is linked to the portal.”
I nodded, though I felt only more confused. My head spinning, I took a step, and Riker followed my lead, guiding me toward the dining hall.
“The Count mentioned training and examinations,” I said. “What are those like?”
“Oh, it’s not that bad. A few spells, a bit of blood work. The training can get a little taxing, but . . .” He trailed off, glancing at my injured leg. He smirked. “I’m sure you’ve suffered worse.”
I nudged him with my elbow, but my lips quirked upward in a reluctant smile.
We reached the dining hall and found half the guests were already there, including Izzy. She waved me over eagerly, and Riker obliged her, steering me toward the other side of the table to join my new friend.
“You look like a princess,” Izzy said, bursting into a fit of giggles. It sounded more like an insult than a compliment.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, trying to maneuver my skirts around the chair to sit down. I looked her over. She wore a bodice trimmed with lace and deep purple skirts cascaded over her legs. “You don’t look much better.”
Izzy snorted and drank deeply from her goblet.
“How’s the ice today, Iz?” Riker asked, sliding into a seat next to me.
“Melted,” Izzy said. “But I think it’s because the fire’s come back. We’ll see.”
A few of the other boys entered—the one with dreadlocks and the chubby one with dark hair. I squinted, trying to remember their names, but Riker leaned closer and whispered, “Abe and Elias.”
I nodded. “How come there aren’t as many girls?”
Riker shrugged one shoulder. “What does history tell you about witches? They were persecuted and hunted for so long. It was only in the last decade or so that they were more widely accepted in society. If there were witches with ailments like ours, I doubted the Council would offer to do anything about it before my time.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
Riker grinned. “I’m a bit of a history enthusiast.”
Riker’s smile vanished. “Lilith, no. My mum was the first female member of the Council in my country.” He straightened, his eyes glinting with pride.
I couldn’t help but smile in return. “That’s pretty impressive. My dad serves on the Council as well.”
“That’s Alexei and Jacques,” Riker said, gesturing to the skinny brown-haired boy and the blond with light facial hair. “Those blokes are mates because they’re the only ones who speak French.”
“You don’t?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Un peu, ma chérie,” Riker said, winking at me.
I blushed and looked away. I knew little to no French, but I knew enough to understand he was flirting with me.
“That’s Wes, Harrison, Sam, and Chris,” Riker said, pointing to the tan boy with black hair, the shaggy-haired blond, the pale-faced sandy-haired fellow, and the one who looked like a wrestler. “I call them the Four Musketeers.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But weren’t there three musketeers?”
“Ah, that’s the thing.” Riker grinned at me. “The book is called The Three Musketeers, but when you add D’Artagnan it’s actually four. Anyway, those four are inseparable. They’re all from America.”
My eyes widened. “Really?” I glanced at the others and pointed to Abe and Elias. “What about them?”
Riker cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Also American. But . . .” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
I frowned at him, then looked back at Abe and Elias.
Izzy leaned forward and chimed in, “The Musketeers aren’t the friendliest of blokes. And they’re a bit judgmental.”
Realization settled in my stomach like a heavy weight. Oh. Abe was black and Elias was overweight. They were the outcasts.
“That’s ridiculous!” I said, balling my hands into fists.
“Shh,” Riker said hastily as the boys seated themselves around the table. “Keep your voice down. You’re right. But the Four Musketeers don’t see it that way. They’re from the early 1900s. They see things differently than you and I do.”
Idiots. My eyes narrowed as I watched the four boys grin at each other and sit at the table. One of them—the wrestler, Chris—swept his gaze over me and flashed a leering grin in my direction.
Douchebag. I gave him the finger.
Riker choked on his drink, spitting onto the table. He grabbed my hand and shoved it out of sight. The table groaned as Chris rose to his feet, his brows lowering over angry eyes.
“I beg your pardon, miss?” he growled.
Riker chuckled nervously, waving his hand. “Pay her no mind, mate. She’s still adjusting from the transition.”
Chris shot a nasty look at Riker before sitting back down, his jaw tense.
The last guests to enter were Armin and the boy with shoulder-length black hair.
“Armin and Juan,” Riker said to me. He leaned closer. “Try not to insult them, okay?”
“No promises.”
Riker sighed with exasperation, but his eyes danced with amusement.
As soon as Juan sat down, servants appeared with fruit and bread to serve us. Riker immediately started scarfing down food, but I looked around, remembering my grave error from last night.
“Where’s the Count?” I asked.
Riker waved a hand. “He stays in his room through most of breakfast. Be as ‘unladylike’ as you wish.”
I laughed and leaned forward to take a bite, but my damn corset stopped me from slouching over like I usually did while eating. I lifted my arms and scooted forward, then swore so loudly that half the table stopped eating to look at me in shock. I ignored them and managed to lift the plate to my face to take several large bites.
Frantic footsteps echoed down the hallway, and I looked up from my plate. Riker’s face was equally curious, so I knew this wasn’t the norm.
The Count himself appeared in the dining hall, his cravat untied and his shirt untucked. Fury darkened his expression. “Forgive my imprudence, but we must leave at once. My mages have just informed me the demon coven has broken one of the time loop’s enchantments.”
Shock rippled across the table. Several boys gaped at the Count, and Riker’s face paled. My heart thrummed anxiously in my chest. “What does that mean?”
The Count leveled a hard look at me. “It means they remember the events from last year, Miss Gerrick. And they could attack us unawares at any moment.”
Riker jumped to his feet. “What do you want us to do, Your Excellency?”
“Mr. Wilkinson, Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Abernathy, and Mr. Knox, I want you all to launch an offensive attack to catch them off guard. Strike them first before they strike us.”
Riker straightened, his jaw stiff with determination. Wes, Abe, and Chris also rose to their feet.
Chris inclined his head. “Yes, Your Excellency.” His lips curled upward in a satisfied smirk.
“What about the rest of us?” I asked loudly. A few heads turned to look at me with derision.
“You will remain here, Miss Gerrick,” the Count said stiffly. “My mages will see to your training and protection.” He bowed his head as if this ended the discussion. Chris, Wes, and Abe followed him out of the dining hall. I caught Riker’s arm before he moved to join them.
“You’re going to the demon coven?” I hissed. “Isn’t it dangerous to leave the castle?”
Riker offered a half smile. “Your concern for me is touching, Brielle. But don’t worry. We’ve done this before.” He patted my shoulder before sprinting forward to join the other men.
9
Brielle
I SAT BACK IN MY CHAIR and rubbed my forehead. My tightly wound hair was giving me a headache, and my shoulders ached from sitting upright for so long.
Next to me, Izzy ruffled her white hair and sighed. “You’ll get used to it. The Count always favors the men.”
At least he isn’t completely racist, though, I thought bitterly, remembering how Abe was one of the warlocks the Count had taken with him.
“Riker says they’ve done this before?” I asked her.
Izzy nodded. “A few times. The Count sometimes needs certain spell ingredients from the demon lair.”
“Is it safe for him to take those warlocks with him if they—” I stopped, unsure of how to word my question.
“Chris, Abe, and Wes have made the most progress with their training. If it weren’t for the time loop, the Count says they would’ve been free to return home thanks to their rehabilitation. And Riker—well, his problem only arises when he has a vision.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What if he gets a vision while fighting demons?”
Izzy shot me a bewildered look. “How many Seers have you met? They rarely have visions in battle, especially if they’re trained like Riker. Something about the adrenaline.”
I pressed my lips together, chagrin heating my face. The only Seer I knew was Angel, and she’d never battled demons before because of her condition. But now that I thought about it, what Izzy said made sense. Angel never had visions when we were playing or hanging out at the mall. They only plagued her at home and in her sleep.
Angel. A swarm of suffocating emotions filled my chest, threatening to drown me. Grief choked my throat, gripping me tightly like a demon’s claws. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth against the agony within me at the thought of never seeing my sister again.
“You all right?” Izzy asked, touching my arm. Her touch snapped me out of my haze.
I opened my eyes and sucked in a breath. “Yeah,” I said tightly. “Just fine, thanks.”
Izzy leaned forward, her eyes glinting. “So . . . how’d you do that last night? Come up with spells like that?”
I frowned. “What spells?”
Izzy gestured to me. “You know, when you were trying to get back home yesterday. And what language was that?”
“Spanish.”
Izzy whistled. “Crikey. You
can do that?”
I sighed. “Do what? Cast a spell? Sure, can’t you?”
Izzy propped her chin on her hands. “Well, yeah. But I didn’t recognize those spells from the Grimoire. Unless they’re spells from your time?”
“No, I wrote them myself. It’s . . . a gift I have. Because of my magical issues, I needed to find something I was good at, so I worked at writing spells.” I shrugged.
Izzy’s face split into a huge grin. “That’s really sick, mate. Good on ya. Wish I could do that.”
Her smile was so infectious that I couldn’t help but return it.
After breakfast, those of us who remained were ushered by servants into a ballroom with windows stretching from floor to ceiling, bathing the bare wooden floors in sunlight. Our footsteps echoed in the empty room.
The servants who escorted us left without a word, slamming the doors shut with their departure. Elias stood off to the side while Sam and Harrison muttered to each other. Jacques and Alexei started speaking rapidly in French, and Armin stood alone, his eyes fixed on Izzy. She didn’t seem to notice.
I looked at Juan, who was watching me with a peculiar look in his eye.
“Something wrong?” I asked him in Spanish.
He blinked, his face splitting into a huge grin. “I thought I heard you speaking my native tongue earlier.” He bowed his head, his hands sweeping backward in a grand gesture. “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss Gerrick.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And when are you from?”
“1772. Spain.”
“Ah, so you’re not too far off from the Count’s time then?”
“Not at all. In fact, he’s acquainted with some of my relatives near the area.”
I offered a fake smile. “How nice.”
He cocked his head at me. “If you don’t mind me asking, how is it you come to speak this language?”
“My father taught me. He’s from Cuba.”
Juan’s eyes widened. “Cuba. I have heard stories of the little island in the Caribbean, though I have never been myself. What’s it like?”